Winter Dawn Poem by Roman Pines

Round, round, round
twirling snow - twirling
in the twilight of pallid stars,
in the white eyes of all that was,
under eyelids’ vaults it revolves as
scrolls of the timeless frost-lace
in the opposite skies of eyes.

And witnessing the descension of snow
is a silent street, slowly
focusing its windows, solemnly
contemplating a cold dawn
under winter’s obscure dome
over ground deprived and livid.
It’s freezing. The mountain
of the light of oblivion.

Down, down, down
light is slowly falling and flying,
and freezing, and solidifying.
In the palm of unending dawn -
White Architect’s dream: a foam
of glistening white snow -
a soliloquy
of the petrified sky.